


why do you cry

by silentfaith



Series: we're all gonna die [3]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chris is in a bad place, literally and mentally, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9497840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentfaith/pseuds/silentfaith
Summary: Chris has to make another choice - but it's really not a fucking choice, is it?





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a while ago and forgot to post it - so here it is! i just really want these boys to cry and really with the emotional truama these fucks go through... anyway, the thought chris has obviously aren't like, true. it's just the kind of stuff that would go through your mind, y'know? anywho, enjoy!

Sam was alive. Unconscious and tied to a chair, but breathing.

Chris felt the ache in his heart lessen a bit in relief. Ashely looked like she felt the same, her shoulders relaxed as she watched her friend breath. He stepped forward, reaching out to touch her shoulder -

A hand gripped his hair, yanked his head back, shoved a mask over his face. He tried to warn Ash but he was fading fast, too fast, he fell -

He came to, slowly. His mouth was so dry it almost hurt to swallow, and it was like he wasn't even wearing his glasses with how blurry his vision was. It was dark, and then it was bright, too bright. His eyes ached, and distantly he heard crying, calling his name - Ashley was calling him.

"Oh, shit... oh crap... Ash?" he croaked.

"Chris! What is this?" she responded. He looked up to see her seated across from him, bound to her chair.

It was startling how clear it all became. "It's him," he heard himself whisper. "This is the guy who killed..."

"No." Ashley pulling at her bindings. "Chris, oh my god, no! Oh god, Chris!"

"You fucking psychopath." The words escaped through clenched teeth. The fucker had to be here, watching them struggle. His eyes burned, and he wasn't sure if it was anger that made him want to cry, or maybe fear. Grief. Whatever it was, it sat like tar in his chest and seeped up his throat. "You... You monster!" He gripped the chair with his free right hand and tugged with his left arm, his bindings cutting into his wrist but he couldn't give a shit, he couldn't do this again. He couldn't lose anyone else.

"Look around, Chris. It's no use," Ashley sobbed. It was then that he noticed what hung above them. Tears pooled in his eyes. Ashely hung her head. "I don't think I'm ready to die, Chris." 

"You're not going to die." Ashley's head shot up at his tone, but her eyes never met his own.

"Chris, god... Don't say it like that. Fuck, it all seems so stupid now..."

"What, Ash?" But he thought he knew, and she gave him a wry smile.

"The little high school crushes we had, that our friends never stopped rooting for. All the time we wasted." He regretted telling Josh about that very crush, when he first studied with the redhead in sophomore year. She chuckled lowly, in a way that used to make Chris' heart beat faster.

"It wasn't wasted, Ash. All that time I spent with you was because I loved you -" She finally looked him in the eye. "- I just don't like-like you."

She snorted, an actual smile on her face, leaving only a ghost of fear. Chris almost felt a relief from the overwhelming panic consuming him, almost returned the look. The smile faded. "I'm sorry. I think I'm the reason you and him never -"

He cut her off, gently. "Ash, please... I swear, when we get out of this -"

The blades started whirring. High above them now, but moving. Ashley screamed. "Oh god," he whispered. No, this couldn't be how this ended for them, for Ash. She never deserved this, even with what happened last year. She panicked, shaking her head and sobbing, like she did before.

"Ashley - I'll get you out of this. I won't let you die!"

"Hello, there, my special little subjects." His blood ran cold, like ice in his veins, like steel in the winter night air.

"I'm scared, Chris."

"Me too."

"You should be, Ashley," the killer said, his low voice echoing off the concrete walls, seeming so much louder than before, "because here's the twist: Chris has made one fatal choice already today -"

"Oh, no, Chris, no..."

"-and now he must make another." Fuck, no, no no no no. He couldn't. Chris couldn't do this again.

"Chris -"

The name sounded so wrong and so familiar rolling off that tongue, but the thought was gone before he could process what it meant 

"-you can take that gun in front of you-" 

There was a gun in front of them. How long was that there? Surely not the whole time, but Chris had been distracted but the red of Ashley's hair and the glint of lighting reflecting off the blades and rubbing his left wrist raw 

"-and shoot Ashley, or you can shoot yourself. Whoever is left can live! The choice is yours."

But it wasn't really a fucking choice was it? Chris grabbed the gun.

\---

It was odd, he thought. He expected some hesitation, especially after that confession - and boy was that a confession, he'd have to looked more into that later, when he could analyze the other boy's words properly - but it was quick.

It made for good television, sure, but it didn't feel right. It stung, surprisingly enough. Why did it surprise him? Maybe he thought he was already too far gone, too invested in this little game, or maybe he just never expected to hear the other boy's sobs. Never wanted to.

The cameras were all good quality - he spared no expense - so they picked up on the tears finally rolling down boy's cheekbones as the barrel touched his jaw, and the way his lips wrapped around his best friend's name.

For a brief moment of clarity, fear gripped his heart tight and his lungs collapsed, remembering words from his father years and years away, warning his children how even blanks could be lethal in a short enough range. He mouthed the blond's name, as if that would be all it would take to undo it all, if it all went wrong.

\---

Chris didn't die, and he felt a second wave of grief hit him in the gut. The gun slid out of his hand and rattled as it hit the concrete.

"What?" he asked. His voice sounded wrecked. Ashley's eyes, relieved and angry, burned into the side of his head, but his attention was too focused on the worthless gun to spare her a glance. 

"Oh, Chris..." God, that voice. It was horrible, but with a familiar cadence. Chris wondered if it was because the psycho's voice was already ingrained into his mind, deep in his subconscious fears. A shiver ran sharp down his spine as his gaze flickered into the darkness and saw movement.

"No! No no no! Get away!" Ashley screamed as she saw the killer as well. He emerged, slowly, a swagger to his unhurried stride that made Chris sick to his stomach.

"What?" he repeated. The man in the mask approached him, Chris too shell-shocked to protest as he leaned down to his level. Chris thought he could feel the man's eyes move over his face, but he found he couldn't move to look back. Distantly, he heard Ashley swear and threaten the killer to get away from him, but she was ignored.

"Oh Chris, Chris, Chris, Chris..." The killer raised one gloved hand and lifted Chris' head with a finger, gently forcing him to look at his mask. Oh god, oh no. What was this? He could almost see dark eyes behind the shadows the mask cast over the man's face, but, he thought, it was probably his brain trying to find what it knew should be there. This creature in front of him looked human enough; it wanted to fill in the blanks. Chris didn't want to humanize this monster, this man who took Josh away from him, who took him from the people who loved him, who set up these traps and the saws -

The killer then tilted Chris's head back and to the left, while cocking his own to inspect the boy's face. Checking where the barrel had touched his skin, where there should be a bullet hole. It stung like hell, but Chris didn't think there was even any blood.

"What?" Chris whispered, his jaw brushing the gloved hand even as it retreated. The man took a step back and straightened to his full height, chuckling.

"Oh, you've heard of blanks before," he said, and puzzle pieces started snapping together in Chris' mind, but not quick or numerous enough. "I mean, really C - ?"

No. No. This wasn't - this couldn't be. He wouldn't never hurt him like this - wouldn't hurt anyone like this. But - he said-

Hands pulled away the grotesque mask and let it drop to the floor. Chris didn't know what was more horrifying - the fractured skull depicted on the mask, or the grin of the boy that stood before them.

"What?" He didn't hear his own question, either because Ashley was now yelling, filled with fury, or over Josh's laughter, or maybe he hadn't made any noise in the first place. 

This wasn't real. He couldn't count how many times he'd thought he'd heard Josh's voice, his laugh, his scream while wandering the halls of the old hotel. This was Chris' head fucking with him, messing up his perception. This was his guilt and grief drilling into his head over and over again that Josh would hate him now, if he was alive. Chris had failed him, and now he was being punished. This was all in his head, it had to be -

"Josh!" Sam's voice echoed off the concrete. Equal parts relief and fear flooded his system as he turned to her, watching her stalk forward, something like anger and concern in her expression. She was okay, they'd be okay, Josh was okay, this was real.

"Josh." Mike's voice snapped above the saws as the grew quieter, powering down. He was all fury in his stride.

Sam freed Chris' wrist and he held it to his chest, the flesh red and raw. He felt a panic attack coming on, as the last of whatever fucking drug was in his system faded. Mike busied himself with freeing Ashley, though the redhead wasn't making it easy for him; as soon as he freed her left leg, she thrashed and tried to kick Josh, though he was out of range standing near Chris.

"Oh, oh very good!" Josh exclaimed, giving Ashley a wink. She bared her teeth. "Every one of you got my name! And after all you've been through! Good, good-good-good." He threw his head back and gave a mirthless laugh. "I mean how does that feel?"

He began to circle them, his fake joy dissolving completely into anger. "Right? How does it feel?" he demanded. "Do you enjoy feeling terrorized? Humiliated?" Josh gave Mike a hard look that the other man didn't turn away from. "I mean, panicked?" Josh's eyes jumped over Chris' form.  
They were all yelling at him - except one. The boy sat at his chair still, though he wasn't bound to it anymore.

Josh was angry, he was angry that Mike had come back and his game was slowly falling apart, but hey, the show must go on. He was also a bit relieved - the ghosts left him when others were around. 

He couldn't help himself, focusing on the shaking blonde instead of the other three. He'd been doing so all night. All night, something sickly sweet in the back of his throat made him want to vomit, made him want to shut the whole thing down. Of course, after the scene in the shed, there wasn't really an out.

"Oh, hey guys! I guess I didn't actually get cut in half?"

Yeah, that would be fucking stupid.

Why wasn't Chris getting up? Didn't he know he should be angry? Josh knew, the others knew, so why wasn't he playing his part - no, the time for playing parts was gone. This wasn't his game. Mike fucked it all up. He ruined it, just like he ruined everything good, everything Josh loved. Him, and Emily, and Jess, and Matt, and fucking Ashley -

Fuck them. Fuck all of them. If they hadn't fucking murdered his sisters, they wouldn't be here now. They wouldn't have had to come up to the lodge again, Josh wouldn't have had to quit school and create this game, Chris wouldn't have to be looking at him so hurt, so betrayed. His sisters wouldn't have to be ghosts, watching and waiting for Josh to get them their revenge.

\---

Chris curled in on himself. He decided to leave the anger to the others, he was too tired and wasn't getting enough air to shout. His lungs felt constricted, like the time in fourth grade when the gym teacher had made him run laps despite his asthma. Only this time there wasn't another little boy to yell at the coach and count for him; this time his childhood protector was the one causing his pain.

Vaguely, he knew that Josh was still ranting, but nothing really registered except the crack in his showman's voice as he yelled, "They're gone," and Chris flinched as if the words were a physical blow.

Mike spoke next, and then Josh, Chris thought, but he was thinking a lot of things, too loud to listen to their words. A lot of his thoughts were along the lines of I'm going to die and I wished they'd stop fucking yelling. Most, though, were denial. This couldn't be real. The psycho had knocked him out, and now he was hallucinating, dreaming, whatever. His subconscious was fucking with him. He blamed himself for Josh's death, so here was his punishment: watching his best friend, obviously off of his meds and consumed by grief, ramble on with that strange, dangerous look in his eye.

Sam's voice intermingled with Josh, but with the pounding of his head and his own ragged breathing he couldn't make out if they were conversing or talking over each other. How could the other four stand there before him, speaking, gesturing, yelling? It took Chris so much effort to breathe in 2. 3. 4. 5. Breathe out. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. Breathe in.

He had to know. He had to know if this was real. If it wasn't, Josh was dead. If it was, Chris had still failed him - perhaps worse than he did in the shed. In the shed, in some part of Chris, he knew it was the psycho who set up the trap and the saw. Here, now - this was all Chris. All him and his inability to be anything but fucking useless.

Josh finished his circle around the group as he began to finish up his last tirade, returning to his spot near Chris. Chris decided to take his chance. Behind him, Mike yelled at Josh.

Two fingers pressed against the pulse point in Josh's wrist, causing him to look down. Chris sucked in a breathe through clenched teeth, his chest aching in a way Chris didn't think was from his hyperventilation, watching how the other boy's arm tensed then relaxed at his touch. Josh's eyes were dark as he regarded the boy in front of him, and Chris felt a tear slide down his cheek as he finally met the man's gaze. He looked lost.

Chris drew his hand back to his side and looked away, though he swore he could still feel Josh's eyes on him.

"What?" Josh asked, tearing his gaze away from his best friend to meet Mike's wrath.

"Did you hear me?! Jessica is dead," Mike said as he marched toward the other man, "and you are gonna fucking pay you dick!" He hit Josh with a gun, another one Chris didn't know was there, and Josh crumpled to the ground.

Chris choked on a sob, quickly stifling the noise with his hands to avoid attracting attention from the others. As they argued about what to do with Josh, he lowered his head onto the table with a thunk.

"Why'd you have to hit him?" he asked, unheard.

**Author's Note:**

> don't know if i mentioned this earlier, but i head canon that chris has pretty bad general anxiety but never got a real diagnosis and despite being all supportive of his bro's mental illness he just... tries not to think about the symptoms of his own. anywho, i don't have more of this written so if you do want more tell me because i will 100% write more if that's the case. thanks for reading dudes!


End file.
